Contractor (11 page)

wall below the old man’s window. He set

his hands into the wood slats and tested his

weight. It creaked a bit, but held him. He

began a slow climb to the second floor.

The window was shut tight. He peered

in, making sure the man was actually

snoozing, then pressed his hands against the

glass. He pushed up. It didn’t move.

Daniel fished around in his pocket for

his Swiss army knife. He flicked open the

tiny saw and wedged it under the crack in the

window near one of the locks.

He pushed power out to his hand. His

fingers were coated in the magic as if he

were wearing gloves—and his tool picked

up that effect. The red handle and steel

appendages were bleached solid white. His

fingertips felt as if they were being pressed

against something that was vibrating—there

was a slight loss of sensation, a touch of

numbness. A small hum reached his ears. Not

too loud, though. That was good.

He set the tool against the edge of the

lock and started to saw. The grating made

him wince, but the magic made it quick

work. In five strokes, he sliced through the

plastic. The second lock went just as

quickly.

He put his palms on the window pane

and slowly pushed up. Unfortunately, he’d

drastically underestimated how the magic

enhanced his finger strength.

The window snapped up, clacking hard

into place. Daniel reeled backward, off-

balance, and his arms flew in circles,

grasping for something, anything.

His left hand caught part of the wood

lattice. He twisted backward and smacked

against the side of the house. One of his feet

slipped off the wood. His focus was shot,

and the white light of the magic flickered

silent.

His fingers were wedged between the

wood and the house siding, and now they

were bending back, straining to hold his

body up. Daniel shoved as much power as he

could into that arm. A thrumming filled the

air and a light like a torch bathed the yard.

He dragged himself back and threw

himself over the windowsill. With his head

now hanging in the bedroom, he looked up,

expecting the worst.

The old man dragged on a long, rattling

snore, rolled away from him, and fell still.

Daniel let out an unsteady breath. He

inched his body through the window and set

ginger toes down on the carpet.

With the man’s back now facing him, the

Vorid was right in Daniel’s sights. He crept

along, wincing at creaks and groans in the

floorboards. He made it to the edge of the

bed without further incident.

Daniel paused. He glanced at his feet.

He looked up at the old man.

He hadn’t really thought this far ahead.

How was he going to kill that thing without

waking the bastard up?

Daniel worked a finger into his hair and

turned it in a circle. The lock of hair flipped

up, then down, then around. He tapped his

thigh with his other hand.

The finger turning his hair stopped.
Ok. I

got this.

Daniel reached out over the bed with

both hands. He pushed magic into both of

them at the same time. Each hand and wrist

glowed with a white power-glove. The

Vorid slithered slightly.

Daniel brought his hands together,

catching the Vorid on either side of its

mucus-coated carapace, and squeezed. It

shrieked and flailed like cat dropped in a

boiling pot. Inky tentacles withdrew from the

man, then slapped and beat at Daniel’s arms.

Where it hit his power-coated skin, it only

burned itself, but he quickly earned a series

of lashes on his chest.

A blade-like appendage stabbed out and

opened a burning cut on Daniel’s shoulder.

He stumbled backward, weathering the storm

of blows, barely keeping his hands on the

thing. He fell to the floor, and the parasite

was on top of him, biting, whipping,

clawing. It nipped at his face with the pincer

jaws of a scorpion.

Daniel grunted and squeezed harder.

The Vorid stopped attacking, and started

squirming ferociously in an attempt to

extricate itself. Daniel bared his teeth and

dug his nails into its flesh.

The spawn screamed. A glass on the

man’s dresser shattered. Water sprayed over

the floor. Daniel winced and pushed harder.

The Vorid’s shell-like carapace

snapped in two, and his magic-coated hands

mashed the soft bits into pulp. The bits and

pieces clinging to his arms vaporized to

black dust. It swirled up into the air,

collecting itself into a black cloud that then

rushed into his chest. Daniel lay on his back

a moment, wheezing his breaths.

He’d been starting to feel the stinging

from his wounds—but that stopped. He

stared at his hands in amazement. His skin

wavered, grew, and pressed together, sealing

the cuts. Rising red welts from the whipping

faded and vanished. The gash on his shoulder

melted away, though a bit of blood still

stained his shirt where the wound had been.

His heart hammered against his ribcage.

He felt great. Fantastic, even. Recharged and

ready to go.

A deep growl rolled over the room.

Daniel whipped his head up. A black

Doberman was standing at the door to the

bedroom, staring him down with narrowed

eyes. Daniel could practically see the cogs

turning as the dog’s brain rapidly reached the

conclusion that he was a foreign object.

"…eh…Harley…" The old man rolled

up, rubbing his eyes. "…whatcha…"

Daniel was up in a flash. He sprinted for

the window. And he was fast, but Harley had

the jump on him.

Just as his hands reached the edges of

the sill, the dog’s mouth clamped around his

shoe. Daniel pushed power into his foot, then

kicked back. The dog whimpered as it took

the blow and fell back across the room. The

man shouted.

Daniel flung himself outside. It was a

long drop. He tried to roll into it, failed

miserably, and took most of it on his rear and

lower back. The wind rushed out of his

lungs. He shifted onto his hands and knees

and coughed into the grass.

"You sonuvabitch! Hope you think you

can outrun the police!"

Lights were flicking on in the man’s

house and the house next door. Daniel

pushed through the pain and started jogging,

one hand clutched to his stomach—pain that

faded in just a moment. He was still on the

rush of the Vorid.

By the time the old man threw open his

front door, Daniel had sprinted several

streets away. He stopped to rest with his

hands on his knees. The lights of a car

pulling onto the road behind him forced him

to keep moving.

Once he was sure he wasn’t being

followed, he doubled back around to the

school. Red-blue police lights were flashing

around the man’s house. Daniel took a quick

glance, then headed in the opposite direction.

Part of him wanted to go home, but he didn’t

have time to call it early.

One down.

This was going to be a long night.

****

Daniel learned a lot of lessons before

the sun came up again.

Pets plagued him constantly. It turned

out they were a lot harder to sense than

people. Daniel reasoned they just didn’t have

the same sort of soul that humans did. He

was very cautious to inspect rooms for

animals before entering.

He got a bit better at breaking into

houses, a skill of which he wasn’t sure he

should be proud. He ruled out climbing

entirely after the total fiasco of night one.

Most of the time, against all common sense,

he went through the front door. No one

expected you to just walk right in at two in

the morning. That almost always forced him

to cut the door open, but he figured most

were willing to sacrifice their deadbolts in

exchange for their lives.

The most nerve-wracking thing was

sneaking up on people while they were

asleep. Sometimes they’d be lying on their

back, with the spawn tucked underneath. On

his second run, he decided to try using his

knife to cut the spawn instead of ripping it

off with his bare hands.

The blade only made it a few inches

before getting stuck, and after shrieking like

a banshee, the Vorid made a break for it.

Daniel dived, caught it in his hands, and

ended up squishing it to death anyway. He

barely made it out of the room before the kid

it had been latched onto realized he was

there.

Being a superhero sucked.

****

He kept exact count as he took down

spawn. There were definitely more after the

extractor had passed through—he’d seen

dozens at school, and it seemed as if every

other house had at least one. It must have

created them, or spread them. Like an

infection.

14 Vorid and seven hours later, he was

feeling pretty tired. Brief bursts of speed

were more effective; it was when he used his

power for an extended period that it forced

him to stop and recover. When he killed a

Vorid, he got a burst of energy, but it was

more like a sugar high than a replacement for

real rest.

His scrying improved dramatically. He

could see much farther at a glance; from

outside a house, he could view all its

occupants and easily tell if a spawn was

present. After a few kills, he didn’t have to

waste time drifting through walls trying to

find the things.

At the end of the hunt, he went back to

the track and timed himself again. His 100

meter time was down to 4 seconds flat.

There were other changes, too. He kept

flinching at sounds, poised on his toes at

chirps or creaks. His eyes caught more

detail—it was as if he could take in an entire

room all at once. Maybe it had something to

do with his reaction time speeding up.

On top of that, even when he wasn’t

actively using magic, he was faster and

stronger than he’d ever been. His body was

light. It reminded him of the freeing sensation

of shrugging a heavy bag off his shoulders—

but all the time.

He walked home feeling like he’d

finally accomplished something. People

were safe. He’d grown stronger.

That night, he only slept an hour. When

he woke, he felt fully rested and ready to go.

Without anything to do until school, and not

wanting to risk going out in the pre-dawn

light, he played some video games to pass

the time until morning.

Chapter Three

Superhero

The gutters weren’t as bad as he thought;

it only took him half an hour.

Mrs. Faldey’s garage was a cornucopia

of tools. He found a ladder, buckets, and

even a gutter cleaning attachment for her

garden hose. One shelf had a pile of power

tools she probably didn’t even know how to

operate. He had a sudden mental image of

her using them to build bombs in her

basement, a fat woman in safety goggles bent

over wires and plastic explosives.

He wheeled the tools out on a little cart

and went outside. He rooted through a

toolbox for some screws. Once he found the

right bit from a dusty crate, he used a level to

set the broken shutter back in place, and from

there, it was a simple fix.

After she discovered his repair work,

she ushered him into her living room to rest.

A small loveseat with pink upholstery was

set in front of an old tube TV. The wallpaper

was gold and white stripes. It was an awful

combination, but somehow, it suited her. Up

on the wall behind the loveseat was a

clustered collection of photographs. Some

showed groups of people; others held

individual portraits.

Mrs. Faldey came back in with cookies

and sat next to him. He tried to ignore how

her white shell wasn’t quite as bright as it

was the day before.

It was a wasted effort.

His magic didn’t let him ignore things.

Details had been popping out at him all day

—the wrinkles of skin rippling over

knuckles, the texture of makeup, the way

eyelashes caught and reflected light. He

stared at the vacuum-patterns in the carpet

below him, momentarily entranced.

Daniel closed his eyes and munched on

his cookie. "You have a lot of pictures. Are

they all family?"

"Friends and family." She turned to

point. The couch groaned under her. Daniel

looked up at the photo she indicated, a big

black and white group shot. "That one is

when I was your age, just a freshman in

college. They didn’t have many women, then,

you know. I was the only girl in my major."

A woman stood near the middle of the